


Room to Breathe

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-23
Updated: 2006-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Room to Breathe

**3.**  
Patrick stands at the bottom of the trellis at the side of the large Wentz house and eyes the white wooden frame carefully. He's trying to figure out the best way to climb a trellis with a bunch of yellow flowers in his left hand; he's climbed _down_ this trellis before, a myriad of escape plots with Pete, but never _up_.

Well.

Give it the old college try, then.

Let's go.

 **2.**  
"No," Pete murmured, taking the sharp pencil and scratching at Patrick's neat lines. "Why don't we try this here? And with a key-change...that would be interesting."

Patrick tried hard not to glare at Pete. This was too much. He had almost completed the song and Pete had barged in on him in his apartment (and taking up far too much of his personal space), and started making suggestions. Patrick hated that. He liked setting things in stone, really. And once they were set in stone, he loved when they stayed that way.

"Oh! And this series of chords...oh yeah, that would be nice after this," Pete continued, and Patrick couldn't help himself.

"Pete. You're the bassist. Since when do you have to worry about the chords?"

Pete turned his head so slowly that Patrick could almost hear the tendons in his neck creak, and he looked at Patrick's face with offended shock.

"I was trying to help-"

"Yeah, well, dont _worry_ about the help. I've been working on this all day, and practically all the instruments are laid out. So yeah, thanks, but I _got_ this."

Patrick could be a stubborn, selfish bastard and he himself knew this for a fact.

Pete flung down the pencil on the almost bare surface of the work-desk and got up, his face cool.

"I share my words with you. You do what you _want_ with them," he reminded Patrick, and stalked off in the direction of sole bedroom in the apartment. He opened the door and made sure to slam it as he entered. Patrick was frowning at the door and really not feeling too cut-up about the whole situation when Pete re-opened it.

"The least you can do," he continued in a low voice, not looking at Patrick at all, "is let me share in your music."

He closed the door again, this time very gently.

 _Now_ Patrick felt guilty.

  
 **1.**   
_"It sounds really good, man," Pete said in a warm voice and Patrick beamed. Pete looked at his face, so young and open, and smiled back, reflecting his natural cheer. This kid was just an amazing singer, and on top of that, he seemed to be attuned to music in a way that was miraculous to Pete. Come on. Look how good he got with the guitar in such a short time. Yeah, he had known some of the basics before, but he was just almost as good as Joe now. Not as thrillingly wild; he had more of a steady approach, but still very impressive._

 _"Oh, and when Andy comes back from his exam, we can ask him to try something like this here." Patrick stuck a finger at the paper, and then drummed rapidly on the tops of his own thighs with the flat of his palms. Pete listened and nodded._

 _"Ok, but maybe with a little counter-beat nearer to the bridge," he suggested, and Patrick tried it out._

 _"Yeah...yeah, that sounds perfect. I like it that way, Pete."_

 _Pete grinned until his face hurt._

*

 **3.**  
Patrick decides to throw the bunch of flowers onto the patio roof so that both of his hands are free. He steps back and tosses it up, watching as it lands near the edge. Good enough. He goes back to the trellis, takes a big breath, and starts to climb.

  
 **2.**  
One thing about Pete was that he could never stay mad at Patrick for too long. He had been lying down in Patrick's bed, fuming a little and then getting over it. Life was really too short to be mad for too long. He got up and went into Patrick's closet, gazing at the array of hats, jeans and hoodies, and then took out the one he liked the best; that reddish hoodie with the smiling froggy on it. So cute. Hauling off the two tight t-shirts he had on, he pulled the hoodie over his head, absorbing the familiar smell of the softener Patrick used.

He went to the door and went out into the living room that was used as a work-room as well and paraded in front of Patrick at his laptop.

"Hey. Doesn't this make me look so good?" he laughed, modelling from one side of the room to the other.

Patrick peered over the top of his screen.

"That's mine," was his only comment as his eyes fell back to the music programme he was working on. Pete tried again.

"I know. But I'm so hot in it."

"Yeah, hot, you really are," Patrick replied absently, not looking again, and Pete could hear the furious tapping of his fingers.

Pete went back to the bedroom, took off the hoodie, pitched it down on the ground and crawled shirtless back into the bed. He made an heroic effort and resisted the urge to go piss on Patrick's computer.

  
 **1.**   
_"That's a really nice colour on you," Patrick complimented softly, and Peter found himself blushing. This was probably the best tour they had been on so far, and they finally had a little money to spend on themselves. Pete had bought this pair of deep-red pants that everyone seemed to despise. Everyone but Patrick, as he was just finding out._

 _"But you look good in anything, Pete. Anything at all." Patrick was blushing too as he said that, and Pete bent his head, trying not to let the brightness in his eyes show._

*

 **3.**  
Patrick finally gets up the the patio roof, grabs the poor bouquet, and then clambers up to the main section. He is a little out of breath, but the night is cool and still, so he sits on the apex of roof and takes a few deep inhales. He stands, walking slowly until he can see the dormer window to Pete's bedroom.

  
 **2.**  
Patrick stumbled into the bed beside a dozing Pete, hoping for a little afternoon nap before he went back to work. As soon as he placed his head on the pillow, Pete opened his eyes and moved in on him. He caught Patrick's mouth in a hungry kiss, and began to rapidly unbutton the plaid shirt Patrick always wore around his apartment, pushing him unto his back and getting on top of him. Pete was getting hard when Patrick tore his face away and shoved at Pete's bare chest.

"Pete, give me a fucking _break_. I just want a little rest before I get back to work."

Pete went still for a moment, then rolled off Patrick and got up. He found his two t-shirts on the floor, and pulled them back on. Patrick was positive that the green one was put on wrongside out.

"Hey, where are you going?" Patrick questioned as Pete headed out the door.

"Back to my parents," Pete answered, and his voice, floating back from the entryway, was neither angry nor loud. Just softly sad, and Patrick knew that Pete was feeling deeply wronged. _Fuck_. "When you're done doing whatever, you know where to find me. When you're ready."

 **1.**  
 _"Are you ready?" Pete asked fretfully, as they naked under the crumpled hotel sheets together. The air-conditioning was high, but Pete felt Patrick's heat like a woodstove, and his own body ramped up the temperature to match. They had been slipping against each other so slowly now, and he had already been through all the prepping of Patrick to take him, and the condom was already on, and he felt so fucking nervous. Jeez, he felt that this simply couldn't be messed up. This was Patrick. It had to be_ perfect _._

 _"What? Are you kidding? Of course I'm ready," Patrick whispered back, his voice raspy and low, his eyes glittering at Pete in the low light and Pete was simply taken in by them as he pushed inside. Patrick gasped in pain, and Pete stopped, still so worried, murmuring low and kissing him, so sorry, (I'm so sorry) until Patrick kissed him back, hard, grabbed onto his hips, and pulling him inside further, slowly. He was all the way in.  
Pete was dying from the sheer pleasure of it all and it wasn't even halfway over as yet._

 _"Move, Pete," Patrick commanded breathlessly, and Pete obeyed, pulling out and slipping in, experimenting until he found the spot that made Patrick cry out again, but not in pain. He grinned and kept at that spot until Patrick was fairly writhing under him, and his little moans and gasps were just not helping Pete at all. He felt Patrick's thighs pressing around his ribs, and actually nearly fainted at the thought of them there and how the two of them might look together, rocking and groaning, hands roaming all over. Pete slipped a hand between them and held onto him, squeezing, and then bit his shoulder, sucking fiercely on the smooth pale skin, (there would be a purple mark to admire tomorrow, just LOOK at what you DID, Pete) and this combination was too much for Patrick as he arched up and came. He turned his head as he shuddered, sinking his teeth into Pete's neck, and oh, so Pete_ liked _this biting shit, because Pete groaned and his hips became erratic and that was it. That was it, checkmate, goal, score. Whatever. Game over.  
This was Pete. It was perfect._

*

 **3\. 2. 1.**

Pete opens the window before he even taps on it, and steps back to let him clamber in. He accepts the brave yellow flowers wordlessly (they look suspiciously like the ones found in Mrs. King's yard, three houses over) and puts them on his dresser as he sits back down on the bed he had been in. He has not been in between the sheets; the comforter is only slightly rumpled.

"I'm sorry, " Patrick begins and feels to clarify. "It's just that...sometimes I want to be alone, and do things by myself. Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do." Pete's voice is thick and low. "What I don't understand is that you weren't like that before. Maybe _you_ need to _remember_ that I want to be always around you, doing things with you and for you and _to_ you. Maybe you need to _understand_ that I love you."

"Pete." Patrick warns, because all this time, those words were never said, and his tone says _don't waste them, dont you dare, don't pull them out on me just because you're feeling insecure about us._

Pete simply looks at him, his eyes black in the shadows of his room.

"I love you. I'll do what you want because I do. Even if it means backing off because you feel like being an asshole today."

Pete turns and lies back down on his bed, on his back with his arm flung over his face.  
Patrick, feeling like he got the Bastard Award of the Year, goes over and sits beside him.

"I'm sorry." He takes Pete's hand for over his face and smiles at him for the first time in what might have been years to Pete, but was only a day. "I am. And I love you."

"Good," Pete says briskly, sitting up and sqeezing his hand. "I'll _give_ you all the room to breathe, Patrick. Just give me the time to watch you do it."


End file.
